


unfinished business

by underwires



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Brief brushes of contact, F/M, Geek/Jock, Heaven & Hell, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a bed by necessity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwires/pseuds/underwires
Summary: The worst thing about being in limbo is that you’re deadandthere’s only one bed in The Bridge.Hermione Granger would rather be in hell than have to share her afterlife with Viktor Krum.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	unfinished business

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year, folks! i'm opening this year with another fic! hope you all enjoy!

The worst thing about being in limbo is that you’re dead _ and _ there’s only one bed in The Bridge. 

It wasn’t just that—there was only one cup of coffee in the only vending machine, a single roll of toilet paper sitting on top of the lone towel in the bathroom, and just one miserable spork per day. 

* * *

The last thing that Hermione Granger remembers before she died was that she was running on twelve cups of coffee and ten shots of espresso before she crossed the street to get back to her office. 

Hermione was in disarray—ironically, she had to go back to her apartment to change her blouse because,  _ of course, _ she spilled her  _ last _ thirteenth cup of coffee on her last blouse.  _ Ever.  _

While brisk-walking her way through the seemingly empty street, she made sure to check both sides of the street before making a dash to her office building’s entrance. 

Until her sprint was stopped short. 

How did a school bus appear so suddenly out of nowhere? 

Before she even had a chance to save herself and her last thirteenth cup of coffee, everything propelled towards her, too fast, too loud, and then it was all blank. 

* * *

The only downside to being a world-famous rugby player was that people expected you to always be beyond god-like. 

There was no excuse to slack off, you just had to be faster and stronger than the best. And there was no limit to greatness. 

It took a few strides in the packed stadium to lead Viktor Krum to believe that if this was his last game ever, he was going to go down in glory. 

It wasn’t like he never said that to himself. It was his ritual to play his every game as his last. 

Some time during the game, the rugby ball, the _quanco,_ landed in his possession, and he dashed to get it to his teammate. 

Vikor Krum looked at the crowd to see their expectant faces. He knew that he played excellently in this game—running faster and dodging more alertly than ever.

The man of the first forty minutes was him, Viktor Krum knew and believed that with every fiber of his almost-godlike being. 

Heck, he could hear even the crowd gasp! But the screams? It was only a sign that he was about to be tackled, maybe he needed to get into a better headspace, he thought. 

But the screams after the tackle that brought him down didn’t stop. 

In fact, the bleachers seemed to swell with people vacating their seats in mass-panic, the live cameras were busting on and off, and the ground was shaking. 

The last thing he heard was the sound of the stadium collapsing. 

Whatever stroke of fate brushed upon him and all the spectators that day was a loud, earth-shattering, and dome-collapsing one. 

Not everyone had enough time to run to safety, not even the man who wanted every game to feel like his last. 

That day, Viktor Krum died helplessly on a field—where he poured out his blood, sweat, and tears—with a _quanco_ still in his hands. 

* * *

“Excuse me, but  _ that _ cup of coffee is  _ mine.”  _

Viktor Krum knew a few things about The Bridge. 

In the two days that he spent wandering around a field of grass that turned into something that looked like New York, then turned gray and had sleet falling from the sky all in the same day, Viktor Krum has now turned to believe that there was such a thing as magic…or at least, that some supreme being was at work here. 

Oddly enough, no matter how much the rain poured violently over his head, not even a single drop reached him. It seemed like there was some sort of dome over his head that prevented any of the acts of nature to actually manifest however they should have. 

He knew it was foolish to think that limbo would act the same way as Earth did. Viktor knew he was dead and he was fine with it, really. Not until some snarky girl tapped his shoulder when he summoned the cup of coffee. 

Apparently, you can just think things and they just  _ magically  _ appear where they’re supposed to be. 

Like the cup of coffee. 

But he sure as hell didn’t call for a pissed off girl with brown eyes and a lovely tuft of hair to ruin his perfectly sunny morning. 

“Did you hear what I said?” She said. 

He was positioning his cup of coffee, mid-sip and she was still badgering him about it. 

“Yes, I heard what you said. Can’t you wish for your  _ own _ cup of coffee?” He replied, too tired of his first ever interaction as a dead person to even care about asking for the girl’s name. 

She clucked her tongue and shook her head, as if she knew something he didn’t. 

“That’s funny,” she said. “You’d think being dead has its perks but let me tell you _ , mister,  _ that cup of coffee that you’re holding…that’s  _ mine.” _

He looked at her blankly and resolved to just take a sip—one small sip just to show her that the cup of coffee was obviously,  _ definitely  _ his. 

“Did you magically appear on my side of limbo just to annoy me?” Viktor was now teetering on being full-on pissed off. It was whatever o’clock in the morning, he needed some peace. 

“There’s only one of everything here, if you haven’t noticed. That  _ one  _ cup of coffee is mine. I summoned it first, but you took it from the table near the bookstore, didn’t you?” She said. 

Viktor looked around, he didn’t notice that there was a bookstore when he got the cup of coffee. He just thought that there was free-flowing coffee and took the first cup that he saw. 

“And,” she continued. “Was the cup next to the  _ only  _ book here?” 

He was silent. Viktor Krum never noticed these things before but he seemed to remember a store with a table near the street…with a book resting beside the cup of coffee that he took for himself. 

“It’s a shame that it’s an old edition of E. E. Cummings’ ‘Collected Poems’ but it should work just fine for my indefinite time here.” 

Viktor had to agree to himself that he  _ did  _ catch a quick glance of a book on the table. He just didn’t bother to check what it was. 

“So what you’re saying is that you  _ own  _ everything here? In limbo? All of it is yours?” He repeated. 

The girl gave an exasperated sigh. “I guess you haven’t been listening this whole time. There’s only  _ one  _ thing of everything we need here in The Bridge—did you know it was called that? Anyway, I called dibs on the cup of coffee a few minutes before you  _ stole  _ it from me.” 

Of course, Viktor Krum knew the place where his limbo was located was called The Bridge. Somehow, he just knew it when he got here. 

It was unfortunate to know that he was sharing his possible after-life of solitude with a surly girl who claimed that he was a thief. Was crime even a thing when you’re dead? 

At this point, he had pretty much given up on fighting for his right in taking a few good sips of the coffee so he said, “Alright. You can have the coffee.” He saw the girl’s eyes light up for a second. “But I’ll trade it for the book. There’s a field somewhere here that seems like a good reading spot.” 

The light in her eyes instantly dimmed and her surly pout was back again. 

“Hey! I was supposed to read in the field today. Imagine me with a book and a cup of coffee in the middle of a field while in limbo.” She paused for a bit. “Fine, you can have it. On one condition: you’re going to have to read the book aloud so we can both read at the same time.” 

* * *

“You used a strip of our  _ only _ roll of tissue as a bookmark?!” 

“It’s never going to run out so I figured it would be a good substitute for a bookmark.” Hermione replied. “I would have summoned a real bookmark if you didn’t ruin my plans to read today.” 

Viktor let out a resigned sigh. 

They were in the middle of a field with lavender flowers coloring the lush greenery with pops of purple. The dome above reflected a warm, crisp sun that made them bask in the comfortable heat in which they were under. 

“So do you want me to start being a real-life audiobook now or what?” Viktor irritatedly propped the copy of Cummings’ anthology on his lap. 

Hermione brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and said, “Whatever. You can read now.” 

Viktor cleared his throat and began to read,  _ “Always before your voice my soul half-beautiful and wholly droll— _ What is it now? Is my reading not poetic enough?” 

“I just realized I still don’t know your name.” Hermione replied. 

“You could have just  _ asked  _ for it, you know. I’m Viktor. Viktor Krum.” 

For a while, Hermione was trying to place the name to the face of the person in front of her. He was tall, strongly-built like he could hurl himself into a group of five guys and not break a sweat. His hair was closely cut to his scalp in something like a fashionable buzz cut. And he was wearing sweatpants and a shirt that said “Krum” on the back. 

“Are you some sort of athlete?” She demanded. 

He smirked and stretched his arms. “Why yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” Viktor looked at her—from the start, he knew she was bossy and her whole demeanor exuded an air of condescension. Maybe there was a reason for that, her eyes always twinkled with earnestness but she was impatient. Viktor Krum couldn’t believe he was going to spend his time in limbo with an insufferable know-it-all. 

“So what’s your name?” He continued, curious to know what he should call the snarling girl in front of him. 

“Hermione. Hermione Granger. On a regular day, I would have had the pleasure to meet you but you stole the only book here from me and I’m still sore about that.” She crossed her arms tritely to make her point. 

Viktor stood up abruptly from where he was seated. “You know what, this is hopeless. I’ve only read one line from the god damned book and you’re being impossible.” 

“You can give the book to me and everything will be alright again.” She looked at him, eye to eye. Her hazel eyes glistened with mischief. “I’ll even leave you alone.” She said with a conniving smile. 

Viktor stood still for a moment, lost in thought. “Fine. You can have the book, I’ll just lie down here and tune you out.” 

He was lying down on his back, facing the sun. Viktor used one hand to shield his face from the glare of the warm sunshine, while the other reached out to hand the tattered book to Hermione. 

As soon as their hands both touch the book, their fingers briefly touch and out of nowhere they both drop the book and clasp their hands. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Viktor demanded. 

Hermione was still looking dumbfoundedly at her hand. It felt like she got electrocuted but there were no burn marks as far as she can tell. 

“I’m not the one who consciously zapped electricity on a book.” She turned her back so she was looking at the vast field, erasing all sight of Viktor from her vantage point. 

“How odd…” Viktor suddenly looked up to the dome of a sky above them. “It’s changed to an angry red up there. Look.” He gestured to it when Hermione turned to look at him in annoyance. 

“Whatever it is, I’m just about done with this excursion. I’m going back to the town center.” 

Viktor shrugged in resignation. “Suit yourself.” 

* * *

Being in limbo meant that Hermione didn’t have to briskly walk towards her destination in order to avoid being trampled over by a sea of people. 

As it is, it was only her and that incessant prick, Viktor, in this wasteland. 

But as things are, if everything in The Bridge was singular, she greatly dreaded going into the small cottage that was supposed to be her— _ their— _ home for the time being. 

The cottage was situated at the base of the hill that sat comfortably between the field and the town center. It was quaint—a warm fire bustled inside, wooden furnishings and bright-colored decor made the place feel homey and alive. It was a stark juxtaposition from Hermione’s current situation which involved her being out of place and very much dead in limbo. 

Perhaps it was a small respite from all the events that have happened since she got to The Bridge. 

Just as she was about to inspect the bedroom upstairs, the door opened and Viktor Krum stepped inside the tiny house. 

_ Not a single moment of peace,  _ she thought to herself. 

She walked up the stairs to create some distance between her and Viktor but it was the least of her problems now. 

“I think you need to see this.” She called out. 

His lumbering steps stopped as Viktor leaned against the doorway to inspect the bedroom. 

“Let me guess,” he said. “Because there’s only one thing of everything here, there’s only one bed and you’re freaking the fuck out, aren’t you?” 

Hermione had to bite back her retort because as much as she hated to admit it, Viktor was right. 

She was going to have to share a bed with Viktor Krum throughout all of her stay in limbo. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! comments and kudos are appreciated! xx


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